


A Much-Needed Vacation

by Nomme_de_Plume



Series: The Pursued, the Pursuing - AU [11]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:11:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomme_de_Plume/pseuds/Nomme_de_Plume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short continuation of our AU. Same warnings apply. This is tucked between The Weight of Determination and whatever comes next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time Away

Jaime watched the shores of Kingsport slide into the steel-grey chop of the bay. He was leaning against the rust-eaten railing of the _Grey Lady_ , a somewhat decrepit ferry that left out of Kingsport daily. A half-forgotten cigarette dangling from his fingers, the tip flaring briefly in the sea breeze. He couldn’t _believe_ he’d actually thought Cersei had been with Sandor, couldn’t believe how much he had managed to fuck his life up in only a few days.  
  
“Some time away will do you good.” That’s what his father had said to him. Tywin had been sitting in the straight-backed chair in the study at Cersei’s house, his hands resting still on the velvet armrests. Cersei had been standing behind him, one hand resting on the high back of the chair. The expression on her face...it made Jaime sick to think of it. To the casual observer it looked carefully blank, but to someone who knew her as intimately as Jaime did, someone who shared his entire life with her, he could see the turmoil percolating underneath her flawless skin. There was anger there, confusion, hurt, irritation. Cersei was looking at him like she looked at her children when they annoyed her. _As well she should. You acted like a child._  
  
“Father, I don’t need time away.” Jaime had set his mostly-empty jigger of brandy on the mahogany desk, rubbing his forehead. “It was a lapse in judgement, I can fix it. It’ll be easy. Greyjoy’s as easy to buy as a jug of milk, for God’s sake.”  
  
“And the girl?” Cersei’s voice was cold as stone. “How could you be so _stupid?_ How could you do this to me, Jaime? That little bitch works for the _Lantern_ , or did you forget?”  
  
“She’s young, easy to scare. Give me a day, half a day, and I can fix this.” Jaime was sick of being made to feel like he was some sort of impudent schoolboy who’d been sent to the headmaster’s office.  
  
“No, Jaime.” Tywin didn’t move, save for a finger tracing idle patterns in the armrest. “It’d be best for you to...disappear for a bit.”  
  
 _Disappear._ The word, or maybe it was the way Tywin was saying it, had a decidedly sinister tone to it. Jaime forced a smile and leaned back a bit in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “The same way Mace Tyrell disappeared?”  
  
Tywin scowled. “Please. You may be an idiot, but you’re still my son. ” _For now._ The two words didn’t need to be said.  
  
 _So long as I don’t tarnish the Lannister name any further._ “I have my home, my job. I have responsibilities here.”  
  
“You had your job.” Cersei spoke up and when Jaime’s eyes flicked up to her, she became fascinated with her fingernails, examining them minutely. “Your duties will be handed off to another in your absence, and possibly beyond.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Alla Tyrell.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Jaime couldn’t even try to mask his shock, and it eclipsed his anger.. “Alla _Tyrell_? You hate her!”  
  
“Yes, well, you know what they say about your enemies.” Cersei crossed the room to stand in front of the window, looking out at the black night. Tywin and Jaime both watched her a moment, her spine ramrod-straight. She would say no more to either of them, that much was evident, and the last thing Jaime wanted to do was spend another minute in this too-big study, staring at his father sitting in the same chair he’d fucked Cersei in not two weeks past. Suddenly feeling his skin start to crawl, he stood abruptly. “I take it we’re through here then.”  
  
“We are.” Tywin replied evenly. “Except for one more thing.” Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he held out a thin envelope to Jaime. “Tickets.”  
  
Jaime snatched the envelope and resisted the urge to tear it open to see where he was being sent. He merely tucked it away, giving his father a short, terse nod. “Father.” Without so much as a glance at his sister, he stalked out of the study. He didn’t remember returning to his sterile apartment, but he lay awake that night, unable to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Cersei’s disgusted expression, heard the ice in his father’s voice.  
  
 _Those damn papers. I wish I’d never seen them._ The hardest part about breaking into Theon Greyjoy’s home had been deciding what to do with his car. An abandoned boat launch off the main road half a mile down had solved that problem easily enough, and the walk through the woods around the back of Riverrun had almost been relaxing. It had been easy enough to bust the flimsy lock on Greyjoy’s shabby little cottage on the fringe of the Stark estate and even easier to find the records he’d given the copper’s girl. They’d been scattered across the small kitchen table and floor, and Jaime had been in and out in under five minutes. _It would’ve been easy enough to scare the girl into silence. Just casually mention you saw the same dress she’d been wearing in your office on the floor of Greyjoy’s bedroom. She’s got such a wholesome image. It wouldn’t do to let the right people know she’s shacking up with a dirty cop._  
  
There had been a moment when Jaime had nearly been caught sneaking out of the cottage by one of the staff. Most of the family was gone; later, he’d found out about Robb Stark being shot and felt a fleeting pinch of sympathy for the family. Despite all the animosity between their families, he almost wondered if the Starks had suffered enough. Jaime had shoved the thought aside as he sped down the road to his sister’s house. _The same road..._ In the far reaches of his mind, he saw a bent bicycle wheel, broken spokes pointing up into a soft spring twilight, a broken fishing pole. It was harder to push that thought aside. Much, much harder.  
  
Cersei was just hanging up the phone when Jaime strode in, her face a porcelain mask. “Greyjoy made a mimeograph to show Selmy.” She said. “But he left it in his desk when he and Robb Stark left the station house. Lancel will bring them over tonight and I’ll dispose of them. It’s a blessing Greyjoy’s such an idiot sometimes.”  
  
 _Please, she doesn’t believe in any god other than the one between her legs._ Jaime raked a hand through his hair. “So it’s alright then.”  
  
“No, Jaime.” Cersei had levelled a cold glare at him. “Father’s coming over tonight. We’re going to...discuss this.”  
  
They’ll never nail Cersei on it now. She’ll slink along just as she always has.  
  
And now here he was, drifting on an ocean as unsettled and tossed as his thoughts. Jaime chucked his cigarette over the railing and scrubbed a hand through his hair. It still didn’t seem real to him - this just had to be a dream. He’d wake up in Cersei’s enormous, soft featherbed, one of her legs draped over his as she dreamed. _No, you won’t. You’ll wake up alone._ God, but he missed Cersei so much it hurt. This loneliness was a steady, hard ache around his stomach, making it impossible for him to eat, impossible for him to sleep.What good was going to be done by him spending a week, a month, a year on Tarth? And after everything he’d done for her?  
  
Without warning the image of the bicycle wheel came roaring back to the front of Jaime’s mind and he nearly vomited over the railing. _You left an 8-year-old boy to die for her._ Jaime remembered the night with painful, crystal-sharp detail. Cersei had called him at Janos Slynt’s house as they were playing poker one April night, her voice hoarse with tears and anger. Come, she’d said. She needed him, something had happened, it was an emergency and she needed him now. Jaime had made some excuse or another to Janos and had sped down the tree-lined, curving road towards the city. It was normally a beautiful drive, one of his favorite stretches of road, but that night the tranquil beauty had been lost on him.  
  
He’d come around a corner cresting a hill too fast as he usually did, and hadn’t seen the boy on his bike until it was too late. The impact had made surprisingly little noise - no more than if he’d hit a powdery snowdrift in the winter. Jaime had glanced in the rearview mirror, had seen the crumpled figure and the shattered fishing pole and had very nearly stopped. _Call an ambulance from Cersei’s, make it anonymous._ _The kid’ll be fine. He’s just dazed._ The sight of the lone, broken bike wheel spinning stayed with him, though, jerking him out of a stone-cold sleep even years later.  
  
The newspapers the next day told the rest of the story. “Police Chief’s Son Crippled!” one had said. “Tragic Hit-And-Run!”, bellowed another. The stories all reported the same thing: 8-year-old Bran Stark had taken his bike to a favorite fishing hole the previous afternoon, promising his mother he’d be home by dark. Catelyn Stark had been quoted as saying that her son was _never_ late, that he went to that fishing hole at least twice a week whenever the river ran too high. When he hadn’t been home on time, Ned Stark, his sons Robb and Jon, the Greyjoy boy and Jory Cassel had gone out looking for him and found him along the side of the road. _You couldn’t have known it was him, you never met the kid, if you’d known it was Stark’s kid you would’ve stopped,_ Jaime had tried to calm his roiling mind that day. _But you didn’t, and for what? Cersei just had her panties in a twist over another one of Bob’s whores. You left a boy crippled over a wet spot in the bed._  
  
Cersei had been of little comfort, railing against him in private. If anyone found out it was Jaime, the damage to the family name would be irreparable. They could never speak of this again to _anyone_ , not their father, certainly not to Tyrion. It would be yet another skeleton in Jaime and Cersei’s increasingly full closet.  
  
A gull shrieked overhead and broke into Jaime’s thoughts. The island was coming into view now in the dark, houses lit up with warm, white light. The breakers were rushing over the shores in a steady, even flow, closer and closer together as the ferry docked. Finally the rumble of the engines beneath his feet stopped, only to be replaced by the quiet chatter and shuffling of the other passengers disembarking. Jaime remained at the stern of the ferry, staring over the darkening sea as though he could will himself back to Kingsport. It was six o’clock - Cersei would just be returning from City Hall about now, ready to sit down for a family dinner completely lacking in conversation. His chair would be empty; he wondered what Cersei was going to tell her children, if anything at all.  
  
“Sir?” A stewart’s voice broke into Jaime’s thoughts, and he glanced dully over his shoulder. “You have to disembark now, sir. Captain’s orders.” The stewart, little more than a boy, fidgeted when Jaime didn’t move. “You’re Jaime Lannister, right?”  
  
“Till the day I die.”  
  
“There was a message for you while we were in transit.” The stewart held out a small scrap of telegraph paper. Jaime snatched at it, hoping beyond hope that it was a message from his sister, calling him back to her side. The ocean wind tugged at the paper as he turned into the ferry’s deck light.  
  
 _Selwyn Tarth will be waiting for you on the dock. - T.L._  
  
Jaime crumpled the paper and tossed it over the edge before shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He couldn't let his “Who’s Selwyn Tarth?” The name rang a faint bell, but Jaime was in too bad of a mood to try and remember where he heard it.  
  
“The island’s magistrate.” The stewart replied. “I never met him, but the captain says he’s a very nice man.”  
  
 _Sure he is. Just like Cersei’s a caring, warm mayor and mother._ “Leave my bags on the dock.” Jaime strode off the ferry, green eyes skimming the dock. Standing at the far end were three figures, wrapped in heavy coats and scarves against the persistent cold and damp. As he grew closer Jaime was able to distinguish figures.  
  
The first was a man, maybe his father’s age. He had a face that was serious and jovial at the same time - the lines on it could’ve come from the driving sea wind or years of laughter. His brows were dark and a little thick, but the rest of his hair was wiry and silver. He carried himself well, Jaime noted. His broad shoulders were thrown back, belying his age and making him seem taller than he was. He was also well-dressed, which surprised Jaime. He had always had the impression that Tarth was a little backwater pile of sand off the coast, keeping largely to itself. But this man, Selwyn, he assumed, looked like he could fit in at any social event in Kingsport.  
  
The woman next to him, though, could’ve used a little spit-polish. She looked to be around the same age, but was shorter and, frankly, a little dumpy in Jaime’s eyes. Her face was pleasant enough, he supposed, framed by carefully-pinned brown locks. _His wife? Or lover?_  
  
Looming behind Selwyn was the third figure, and try as it might, it was the one that commanded the most attention. _It must be his son._ The boy was tall, taller than Jaime and would have been broader in the shoulders if they weren’t slumped so. Straggly, yellow hair peeked out from the newsboy cap jammed over the boy’s head, and Jaime caught a glimpse of broad, uneven features. Jaime knew it was rude, but he couldn’t help but stare as he approached. The boy had thick lips, and was keeping them pressed close together. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his large, thick hands, and his blue eyes kept sweeping back and forth as if afraid to linger on anyone or anything too long. The way he walked reminded Jaime of the draft horses he’d seen pulling fire wagons when he was a boy - a steady, plodding pace with no real purpose other than getting him from point A to point B.  
  
“Mr. Lannister, I presume?” Selwyn smiled warmly and extended a hand. Jaime dug up his flashy, wide PR grin and shook it, nodding at the lady at his side.  
  
“In the flesh. Mr. Tarth?”  
  
“Selwyn, please. Welcome to the island. I trust your trip wasn’t too bad?”  
  
Even though the man was being more than welcoming, Jaime wanted to punch him in the jaw. “It was fine. Very...quiet.”  
  
“Excellent, excellent. Come along now, I trust you were told you’d be having dinner with us?”  
  
“No, actually.” Jaime nodded at a porter who was loading his bags onto a cart. “I actually didn’t know I was meeting you until we landed. My father didn’t say anything about dinner, or where I’d be staying.”  
  
“Your father?” Selwyn  looked politely confused. “Your father didn’t speak to me, either. Your brother called the other day and told me you’d be staying on the island for awhile, and would I mind making sure you didn’t wander into the surf and float off.”  
  
 _Tyrion._ Jaime’s smile was a little more genuine this time. He missed his brother’s sharp wit and all-seeing intelligence already, and hoped the little bastard would come out to this Godforsaken island and entertain him at some point. “I’ll be sure not to.” He glanced at the woman, and Selwyn laughed.  
  
“I’m sorry, you must think me a terrible clod. This is my lady friend, Susannah.” Jaime shook her hand, noting how surprisingly soft it was. Selwyn gestured to the overgrown boy behind him, tugging him into the pool of lamplight they all stood in. He looked at Jaime, and Jaime couldn’t look away. It was cruel, but he felt as though he was looking at the human equivalent of a high-speed train wreck. “And this is my daughter, Brienne.”  
  
 _Good God_. Jaime’s smile brittled. _It’s a woman._


	2. Getting Acquainted

The sun was hitting Jaime’s eyes all wrong. At his apartment, his bedroom faced to the north, and Cersei’s bedroom had a full western exposure. So unless he’d slept the entire day away, the sun was entirely wrong. He rolled over, instinctively expecting the wide expanse of his king-sized bed to be stretched before him, and found himself bashing into a cold, hard wall. _Goddammit._  
  
Rising a bit stiffly, Jaime rubbed a hand across his face. The floor beneath his feet was cold, nothing like the lush carpets he was used to, and the only thing he could hear was the quiet rush of the tide coming in. Normally it’d be ideal and peaceful but as Jaime gazed out at the slate-gray sea, he realized he may as well have been in a prison cell. He imagined the beach as it would appear in the summer - a cornflower blue sky overhead, the flawless sand full of pasty white mainlanders and their picnic baskets. In his mind’s eye he could see five golden heads at the water’s edge, happy and peaceful together. He imagined Cersei’s fine-boned hand stroking his cheek, the secret smile she would give him, and only him. In the next minute a wave crashed over his little fantasy and it was all gone and all grey again.   
  
It was a long while before Jaime could bear to look at the room Selwyn had given him the night before. It was spacious enough; again, nothing in comparison to what he was used to but it would serve its purpose. Most of the houses on the island were small, one-and-a-half story numbers, sided with shingles bleached from salt and sun and wind. The Tarth home was no different. Jaime’s room went the full width of the house, although there were two feet lost on either side as the roof sloped down sharply. The furniture looked as though it had come over from whatever Old Country the Tarths stemmed from, little digs and knicks in the wood giving away its age.  The curtains that framed the windows were yellowed with age, but still neatly pressed, and Jaime wondered briefly if Selwyn had his ‘lady friend’ doing his housekeeping.  
  
Jaime stared blearily out of the other window. It looked out onto a narrow, curving road. The trees were as old as the island itself, gnarled and bent and twisted. In the summer, they’d be green and lush, but summer seemed so far away that Jaime doubted it’d ever come again. He paced the room in his flannel pajama bottoms, barely feeling the cold now, and found himself staring at the sea again. Far out past the breakers, he could see something in the red-tinged water. Squinting, he could see it wasn’t a bird, or a boat, or flotsam tugged in the currents. It was moving at a steady, unhurried pace, and... _It’s a person._   
  
Jaime took a step back, confused. _It’s January, hardly swimming weather. And the tide is going out._ They didn’t seem to be struggling, but nevertheless, Jaime found himself dressing quickly, trotting down a narrow, steep flight of stairs. He could smell coffee and bacon and despite his vague worry about the figure in the water, he couldn’t help but realize how hungry he was. _When’s the last time you ate, anyway?_  
  
“Good morning!” Selwyn was sitting at round table in the kitchen and raised a mug of coffee to Jaime as he entered. Susannah stood over the stove, scrambling some eggs. She tossed a shy smile at Jaime, which he returned.“Sleep well, I hope?”  
  
“Uh, yes, fine, thank you.” Jaime ran his fingers through his hair, blinking in the surprisingly bright kitchen. It was small, but well-appointed and cozy. Leaded windows looked out over the beach, but from this angle Jaime couldn’t see the figure anymore. “There’s, ah, someone in the water. Out past the breakers. Might need help, actually, it looks a bit brisk outside.”  
  
Selwyn chuckled and gestured to the seat across from him. “If you’re going to pop out and give them a hand, let me know. I’ll have Susie put some hot cocoa on for you.”   
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
Selwyn nodded towards the long, uneven stairs leading up the dunes from the shore and Jaime’s eyebrows raised. The awkward, lumbering daughter was trudging up the stairs, and Jaime was reminded uncomfortably of a vacation he’d taken years ago, when he was a boy. He’d seen a bull moose wading out of a lake, fur matted and stringy. Selwyn’s daughter - _Brenna?_ \- was wearing nothing but a swimsuit, scrubbing at her straw-colored hair with a towel. Much like the night before, Jaime knew it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The woman clothed had been an impressive enough mass, but here... _She could give the linebacker for the Giants a run for his money._  “She swims. Every morning. I’ve told her not to, said that she’ll catch her death of pneumonia, but trying to convince Bri that she has a weakness like us here mortals...it’s like trying to make it rain up.”  
  
“Selwyn...” Susannah’s tone was chiding as she set a plate down in front of him. “Be nice. Mr. Lannister, would you like some breakfast? Eggs? Waffles?”  
  
“Eggs sound great, actually...” Jaime was distracted, still gaping at Brienne. Her thighs were like tree trunks, her shoulders more muscular than his. He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to pit her in a fight against Sandor Clegane. “Over medium, if you could, and toast?”  
  
“Coming right up!” Susannah turned back to the stove.  
  
Jaime leaned back in his seat, hands clasped behind his head and never taking his eyes off Brienne. She was leaning against the worn porch railing now, gazing out at the sea and seemingly lost in thought. Personally, Jaime couldn’t imagine what held her mind so that she forgot she was in a wet bathing suit in January staring down a coastal wind. He shook his head. _What’s it to me if she freezes to the deck?_ “You said you spoke with my brother?”  
  
Selwyn nodded. “I did, yes. Said you’d come under some unexpected stress at work and were looking to take a leave of absence.”  
  
Jaime couldn’t help but smile wryly. “That’s one way to put it, yes. Do you speak with him often?”  
  
“From time to time. He came out several years ago and we spent quite a lovely time together.” Selwyn took a sip of coffee. “He’s got quite a large personality.”

  
“Again, that’s one way to put it.” Jaime smiled at Susannah as she set a plate before him. “Might I borrow your phone later? I wouldn’t mind giving him a jingle.”  
  
“Absolutely.” Selwyn glanced up as Brienne entered, bringing with her a rush of cold air. She’s a carpenter’s dream. Flat as a board. “Bri, sweetheart, how was the water?”  
  
The woman’s eyes, _so blue,_ flicked over him uneasily before she responded. “Fine. Cold. You should come with me sometime. You know what the doctor said about exercise.” Her voice was low, softer than Jaime would have expected.  
  
“I don’t think the doctor intended for me to go swimming in water that’s just over freezing. I do wish you would be more careful, though.” A look passed between Selwyn and his daughter, a brief exchange of love. Jaime felt a flare of jealousy - his father had never looked at him like that.  Tywin Lannister had shown little love for anyone since his wife died giving birth to Tyrion, so many years ago. He gives a damn about her, Jaime thought bitterly as he speared his egg. A tiny, pinging voice in the back of his mind wondered what happened to Brienne’s mother, but he silenced it. _What do you care what happened to her? Probably took one look at her wreck of a daughter, put rocks in her pockets, and went out with the tide._  
  
The thought was cruel, and Jaime knew it, but he didn’t care. He was still bitter and angry at his own family, and to see another one even remotely functional just rubbed it in his face. He wasn’t going to be here long enough to form any attachments to these people. _No more than a month, really._ By then Cersei would be begging him to come back, if for no other reason than to rid her of Alla Tyrell. _And if she’s lucky, to warm her bed._ The sound of his name jerked his thoughts away from what Cersei was doing and he tried to look attentive.   
  
“...take Jaime into town with you today, could you?” Jaime hoped and prayed Selwyn was speaking to Susannah - she may be mousy and a bit quiet, but if Jaime was going to be forced into spending time with anyone he’d rather it be her than the dripping dray horse standing half-naked in front of him.  
  
Her eyes flicked over him again, thick lips pressed together and Jaime’s heart sank. “I suppose. I won’t be there long. If there’s something he wants to see in particular, he won’t need me to show him. It’s not that big an island.”   
  
“She’s right, and I hate to bother her if she’s got business.” Jaime added. “I’d love to explore the island a little on my own anyway - it’s hard to find time to yourself in Kingsport.” He tried to smile his wide PR-smile that usually won him whatever it was he was after, but it felt even more forced and stiff than usual.  
  
Selwyn waved off both their objections. “Nonsense. Bri here knows this island like the back of her hand, and everyone knows her.”  
  
“I bet they do.” Jaime hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until he saw her broad, meaty shoulders slump a little more. _Oh come now, it can’t be the worst she’s heard._ Nevertheless, he cleared his throat. “If you insist, though...”  
  
“I do.”  Selwyn pushed his chair back and carried his plate do the dishes, pecking Susannah on the cheek. “Go on and make yourself presentable.”  
  
Brienne looked as though she wanted to object, and possibly was, but instead she gave a small, defeated sigh and slumped out of the room. Selwyn watched her go, a slight sadness in his gaze now. As soon as her heavy steps hit the top of the stairs, he coughed. “She’s a good girl, Lannister. Just a little shy.”  
  
‘A little shy’ was putting it mildly. As they walked into town, Brienne kept her eyes on the ground three feet in front of her, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her men’s coat and the same battered newsboy’s cap she’d worn the night before pulled over her yellow hair. She had to slow her pace to match Jaime’s, he noticed, and also saw how uncomfortable it was for her. Brienne Tarth was clearly a woman used to living at her own speed, and didn’t care who had to keep up with her.  
  
Not that Jaime knew that. The woman kept her mouth shut, her breath a small cloud every few seconds. Jaime inhaled deeply, the cold bite in his lungs almost welcome. Tarth could be a pleasant enough island with the right company, he realized, in a touristy way. Sure, the white-washed fences looked a bit dreary in the winter morning, and the scrub bushes were dead and brown, but it had potential. He cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders. “So you’ve lived here your whole life then?”  
  
Brienne started as if scared by his sudden question, and glanced at him only briefly. “Yes.”   
  
Jaime waited for her to go on, and when she didn’t, he tried to remember all his mother’s lectures on good manners, faint and dusty in the deepest parts of his memory. “Do much travelling? Island this size, it has to get boring here.”  
  
“I served. In the Navy.” Brienne responded, and Jaime didn’t have to feign his surprise at that. He’d heard of the odd woman or two serving in the military, but he’d never actually _met_ one.    
  
“See much action?” She glanced at him again, and Jaime felt a small knot in his gut. There was something in those admittedly remarkable blue eyes that he recognized all too well, a hollowness that didn’t need any explaining. Jaime chewed on the inside of his cheek, driving away a soft, lilting laugh, a work-roughened hand tucked in his, lips wet with French wine, the reek of burning flesh. _That didn’t happen._ “Where?”  
  
“The Caribbean, then when the war came, the North Sea.” Brienne looked as though she was going to go on, then shook her head. “I do administrative things now. They suddenly don’t like having women on the ships - they say it’s bad luck.” The bitterness in her voice was hard to miss. “So I’m at a desk now.”  
  
“Well that’s not fair.” They were coming around a bend in the road, and Jaime could spy a neat, picturesque little village before them. “Do you actually count as a woman?”  
  
Brienne’s jaw tightened and Jaime wondered briefly if it wasn’t a bad idea to antagonize a creature who could probably beat him to a pulp without breaking a sweat. “I suppose you think you’re the first to say that.”  
  
“Hardly.”   
  
Brienne sighed, enforcing the dray-horse image in Jaime’s mind. “Listen. Can you just wander around town for an hour or so, and then meet me at the square? I really don’t want to baby-sit you all morning.”  
  
Jaime snorted. “I don’t need a baby-sitter, doll.” The look that earned him was downright acidic and could’ve eaten through steel. It felt good, to release some of the vitriol building up within him. He smiled again and hung his PR-smile out to dry. This one was openly cutting. “Not one for pet names, are you?”  
  
“There’s no point to them.” Brienne pulled the collar of her corduroy jacket up. “People have a name, and you use it. There’s no need to...” she trailed off as a group of men exited a building just ahead of them. They were young, Jaime saw, far younger than him. They were laughing in a jocular, loud manner, their strides bold and cocksure. For a split second he thought Brienne was going to bolt, but instead she just tugged her coat tighter around her shapeless body and kept marching on.  
  
Jaime smelled trouble, but he wasn’t about to show it. “Your father called you ‘Bri’. Isn’t that a type of cheese?”  
  
“Isn’t Jaime short for anything? I always assumed it was a girl’s name.” She responded evenly.  
  
“Oho!” Jaime chuckled. “So you do have some wit in there, dull as it may be.”  
  
Before Brienne could respond, one of the men walking towards them whistled sharply. “Oi, there’s the belle of our ball! Who’s that you got with you, Tarth, a new boyfriend?”  
  
One of his companions elbowed him, his voice reedy and shrill. “That’d imply she had one to start out with.”  
  
“Maybe he thinks it’s a fella, the poor sap.” The first one responded and jerked his chin at Jaime. “Hey, Ethel, y’know what you’re in for there, right? She may be many things, but our sweetheart ain’t no three-letter man. It’s an easy mistake to make, we know.”  
  
Jaime arched an eyebrow. “How?” When the first man blinked at him, he gave him a slight nod to go on. “How do you know it’s an easy mistake, have you tried to find out?” Next to him Brienne was standing very still, as if that would make her invisible to her taunters. Jaime wondered briefly if this was a regular occurrence and how she countered it when she was alone. The second man snorted with laughter, and Jaime noticed a third remaining largely quiet but now he was looking at Jaime almost challengingly, brown eyes sizing him up. _What’s going on there?_ He grinned. “You don’t have to tell me. Whatever you fellas do behind closed doors isn’t any of my business. Now, you mind if we carry on? It’s cold as a witch’s tit out here.”  
  
The first man scowled at Jaime and he returned it with a banal smile. He was used to making enemies and sometimes welcomed it. “Yeah, go on and beat it. I don’t wanna see your mug around here again, got it?”  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware this was your property.” Jaime looked around the road with an exaggerated air of innocence. “Lovely bit of dirt you’ve got here.”  
  
The third man finally spoke up, nudging the first on. “C’mon, Jimmy, he ain’t worth it, and neither is she. Just keep on, yeah?”  
  
The first man glowered, his chin jutting out, but jerked his head at his companions as they continued down the road. Jaime watched them go for only a moment before glancing at Brienne. It was jarring to find that he had to look up to her to meet her gaze and when he did, what a cold gaze it was. “What?”  
  
“You shouldn’t have said anything.” She mumbled, tearing her eyes away after a second and started down the road again. “You’ll just make it worse.”  
  
Jaime gaped and had to hurry to catch up. “I thought you’d’ve been grateful for the help.”  
  
Brienne turned to him then, her face locked somewhere between a sneer, a snarl, and something Jaime couldn’t place. “I don’t need your _help._ I’ve dealt with them all my life without you or anyone else.” For a moment she looked as though she wanted to say more again, but just turned on her heel and kept marching.  
  
“What, standing there like a cow and not saying anything? That’s how you ‘deal’ with them?” Jaime snorted. “I’ve heard of easy targets but really. D’you have a bulls-eye painted on your chest under that shirt?” He thought a moment. “Not that any of them would ever have seen it.”  
  
“Just shut up, would you?.” Brienne snapped over her shoulder. “Just keep out of my way while you’re here.” Her strides lengthened and if Jaime wanted to keep up with her he’d have to trot.  
  
Fortunately for him, or unfortunately maybe, he wasn’t about to put himself in that position. He slowed his own pace, watching her broad shoulders and rolled his eyes. Fat chance of that. _Ah, Cersei, hurry up and work that stick out of your ass and Father’s. This island’s too small for this beast_ and _me._


End file.
